


Krennic - Demonstrating loyally

by Munnin



Series: Rogue One Cycle [8]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, M/M, Voyeurism, ritual humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: Krennic wants the Deathtroopers as his personal guard. But Tarkin isn't entirely upfront about the cost of their loyalty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt - http://rogueonekink.dreamwidth.org/1084.html?thread=179516#cmt179516
> 
> Again, I'd like to say I'm sorry but I'd be lying.

“I notice you’ve requisitioned a squad of Death Troopers for your personal guard.” Tarkin observed almost offhandedly, shuffling through the datapads on his desk.

Krennic, who had not been offered a chair at any point during the meeting, hummed a note of annoyance. “What of it?” It had gone on long enough. He was over Tarkin’s little power trip. 

“A bold choice.” Tarkin commented. Making Krennic stand was petty but it was working. Just enough discomfort the keep Krennic on edge, just enough to chafe the man’s temper. “You are aware they require certain… assurances of loyalty?”

Krennic raised an eyebrow at Tarkin. “I assumed being highly trained elite troopers, their loyalty would be unwavering.”

“Not their loyalty, Krennic.” Tarkin let the hint of a smile curl his lip. “Yours. If you take them on as personal guards, they require assurance that you be able to take their orders. Should the situation arise. For your own protection, of course.”

Krennic shrugged it off. “Some oath or something. Seems little enough to me.” 

That little curl of the lip again as Krennic’s arrogance placed him right where Tarkin wanted. “I should very much enjoy being there to see it.” 

Krennic waved it off. Just another waste of his time, another of Tarkin’s little power trips. “Whatever entertains you, Governor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actually work to do.”

“Don’t let me detain you.” Tarkin waved him away, enjoying having the last word, even as Krennic turned to leave. 

***

A week later, Krennic was contacted by the captain of the Deathtrooper squad to be assigned to him, requesting a meeting at a time and location the captain would specify. “I assume you’re aware of our requitement for a demonstration of loyalty and obedience under fire, sir?”

“Yes, yes. Governor Tarkin told me. If it will keep you happy, fine.” It was a nuisance but special forces types were like that. So attached to their little rituals. 

But when the time and place came, Krennic found himself less sure. The troops had assembled in a small hall in the barracks on Coruscant. Their armour and helmets black and shiny against the dark grey of the circular room. A floor above, Tarkin watched through a viewing window, that irritating half smile on his lips. 

The captain stepped forward, his weapon holstered as the others stook at attention. “Director Krennic. These men with protect you with their lives, follow your orders and directives without hesitation or question. However, as your personal guard, your safety will be our paramount prerogative. As such we require proof you are able to follow our orders in times of necessity.”

“Yes, yes. You have my word.” Krennic waved dismissively. 

“No, sir. We require a demonstration.”

Behind Krennic, the door closed and bolted. 

The captain barked an order in some scrambled code that came out as the bark of something inhuman. The troopers at attention turned sharply, moving in parade perfection to rack their weapons. 

And remove their codpiece armour. 

“Director Krennic, remove your rankbar and hold it on both hands behind your back.”

“What is this? What are your men doing?”

The captain cocked his head, “You informed me you’d been made aware of the nature of the demonstration, sir. At any time, you can call a halt. However if you do so or hesitate to obey any order, we will terminate this contract. Is that understood?”

Krennic glanced up at Tarkin and the smug old bastard’s gaunt grin. Of course he’d known. He’d set this up. 

Trapping Krennic with the bait his own arrogance.

With deliberate determination not to be seen to flinch, Krennic reached inside his tunic to remove the magnet clasp from the back of his rankbar, holding his sign of office in both hand behind his back as if at parade rest. 

“Kneel, sir.” 

Krennic breathed through his nose, refusing to give any sign of discomfort or fear as the troopers lined up behind the captain. 

The cocks that jutted from their dark undersuits were as black as their armour. Krennic found himself wondering if they were wearing some form of sheath. 

He didn’t get to muse that thought long before the captain ordered the first man forward. “You will service each of these men in turn. You will not spit or gag. You will not let go of your rankbar.”

Krennic bit his lip and nodded tightly. He was almost glad as the first man stepped forward, blocking his view of Takin’s death’s head grin.

It wasn’t till then, Krennic realised the skin of the phallus jutting towards his lips wasn’t covered at all but tattooed, in fine lines of black. A process that could only have been extremely painful to endure. 

Elite. Able to endure pain. And very large. 

He looked up at the man, seeing only hard shiny armour and the sinister blank eyes of the helmet. He was no novice at this but he was usually on the receiving end. It had been a long time since he was anything but on top. 

But here he was, on his knees. His white uniform loud in the dark room, his cape spread out around him. 

What a scene he must make. 

The trooper made no move, standing half a step back so Krennic was forced to lean forward to take the man into his mouth, spreading his knees to keep his balance. Out of practice, it took Krennic a few sloppy thrusts to find his rhythm, to stretch his jaw and get the angle right so he didn’t gag. 

The trooper didn’t move, just stood there like a statue as Krennic drooled around his cock.

Damn Tarkin. Damn his bastard hide. 

It seemed to take forever before the man came. Krennic’s jaw ached, his lips bruised and his thighs burning. And when the trooper did cum, it was without sign or warning, just shooting his load down Krennic’s throat, making him gag. Krennic fought to swallow, and not to throw up. The taste of it was half the reason he hated doing this. 

The trooper stepped away, erection not seeming to flag at all as another stepped up to take his place. 

And another. 

And another.

Tears stung Kennic’s eyes, his nose running as the last of the eight troopers stepped back. Cum and drool drippled down his chin, staining his collar. 

Almost defiantly he stared up at the captain. The only one of the troopers who hadn’t used him. But there was no expression visible behind the black visor. 

“Stand, sir. Do not release your rankbar.”

Krennic got to his feet in a motion that was less that graceful than he might have hoped but triumphant all the same. He ached – his back, his thighs, his jaw but it was done. Tarkin could gloat all he wanted but Krennic hadn’t flinched. Not even once. 

And then the troopers set a padded frame in front of him. 

“Bend over, sir.” 

His cape was folded over his back and his dress pants lowered as red-faced with anger, Krennic bent over the padded frame. 

It wasn’t even the indignity of being fucked; another thing he hadn’t submitted to for many years. It was the fact his position put him in full view of Tarkin. And the Governor showed no sign of getting bored. 

And then there was the way the troopers fucked him - almost mechanically and with a stamina that Krennic both hated and admired. 

Or he would have, if they hadn’t each milked him first. Every one of them fingered him hard and deep, hitting his prostate with the marksman precision they were famed for. They never touching his aching cock. Just pressed their gloved fingers inside him, leaving him weak and shaking in the wake of each and every forced orgasm. 

And sensitised. 

Almost beyond the point of endurance. 

At least when he had been forced to go down on them, he could stifle his own reactions. 

But now there was no hiding it. Not from them, not from Tarkin. 

By the fourth time he was dry, his balls tight and empty. 

By the sixth he was sure he would pass out from the pain of it. 

By the eighth he nearly did, feeling the rankbar start to slip from his grasp. 

In a last-ditch effort to regain his dignity, his control, Krennic snatched back the strip of polished duristeel, squeezing tight till the hard edges of rank squares cut into his palm. The flush of hot blood dripping from his clenched hands was enough to keep him together. At least until the last trooper was done with him.

“You may stand now, sir. We are satisfied.”

Krennic almost couldn’t stand, his whole body was so sore, so used up. But he managed it, pulling up his pants and smoothing out his cape with the last shred of dignity he had left. 

By the time he did, the troopers were fully armed and armoured again. Slick black death machines who showed no sign of the what had just transpired. Unlike Krennic who stained and smeared and shaking. 

The captain stepped forward and took the bloodied rankbar from Krennic’s hand, pinning it back on Krennic’s tunic with care and respect. “Congratulations, sir. We will report to you 0600 tomorrow.” With a sharp salute, echoed in perfect synchronicity from the other eight, the captain turned and marched out. 

As Krennic’s knees buckled and the floor rose up to meet him, he could hear Tarkin laughing.


End file.
